Assassin's Creed III: A Dawn of Revenge
by Adventure Core
Summary: Young Marcus DeVenko has lost his father and may lose his mother to the red coats. Hes already a wanted criminal for his petty theft. But when he fixes his fathers old map and finds a box in the woods.He goes to seek out the men who killed his father and tried to take his mother Rated K for cursing(OC story and might be OCxOC dunno, if its good let me know and i will keep on)


_It's my first ever fanfic of something so I hope you guys like it!_

"Get him!" The red coats yelled as they chased the teenaged boy. Marcus had stolen some baked goods

from a nearby bakery and was caught doing so. Marcus had never stolen anything before, let alone be

chased by British red coats. He shoved through the crowd, people old and small. It didn't matter at the

time, it was either life or death for Marcus. He looked around frantically for a way to escape. He set his

eyes on crates that formed a stairway to a nearby pole, which led to the rooftops. If he could climb up

the crates and pole he would be home free. But to do so he had to drop his baked goods. 'Damn it!

Wasn't there anything easy to do for him in his god damn life?' he thought to him self as he stuffed as

many pieces of bread as he could into his shirt. The first two bullets flew past him, nearly skimming his

cheek. He could feel the heat of the red coats behind him, breathing fastly as they approached him. It

went from a petty thievery chase to a full blown out outlaw hunt. A game of predator and prey was all

this was. Marcus took the leap which seemed to be jumping off a cliff, but was a nearly hurdle jump.

He climbed as fast as he could up the crates and onto the pole. Marcus looked back with such

joy that the recoats were reloading their muskets. He scrambled onto the brown pole and clambered

onto the window panes. This had become a normal thing for Marcus since he loved pulling pranks and

making quick get-aways. One bullet had made it's mark onto Marcus's shoulder. He slowly lost his grip

but re-gained it by using his feet to shoot him onto the roof. The red coats had a harder time getting up

than Marcus. The boy grinned and ran off with his winnings, knowing he had won this time. This time.

It rang in his ears like the screaming of the crowd or the cursing of the red coats, even the blood

pumping in his very own ears. The bullet slowed him down than usual but he was able to keep his

normal paste. "Hehe suckers call themselves soldiers but can't even catch a single child?" Marcus

arrogantly snickered to himself. He had to return to his mama before she had a hard attack. Ever since

his father died she has been a nervious wreck about his safety. She would kill him if she knew he was

stealing from red coats and braking the law. The law. 'Fuck the law' he thought to himself angrily. The

law is what took his father away from him and made his mother and himself move to Boston. The

Americans say they fought for freedom and liberation, but for who? It was only themselves they thought

for. Not the citizens, for their own purpose. One day it would be the turn on things. They treated him

like a animal because he wasn't white, but tan instead. His father was African American and his mother

sailed from France. He didn't know why, but his mother always said his father George was different.

Not different enough for the Americans to kill him as a slave. He had dropped down and opened the

door to their little house."Mama I'm home!" he called out as he spread the bread on the tables.

"Oh my baby!" his mother cried as she looked at his wound.

"Mama I'm fine really" he sighed. He had forgotten all about the bullet wound.

"Nonsense you have a bullet round in your shoulder!" she said pulling it out with tweezers. Marcus

bit his toung to stop himself from crying. He had been shotten at before, but none of the bullets

hit their mark up until now. He had missed his father a lot. "Take it like a man kid" he always used

to say. Never baby him like he was some American teenaged girl. His mother's friends came in a few

seconds later talking about their men and lives. Marcus groaned and went up stairs to his father's

old bedroom. He had taken out the papers his father stored in a box under his bed and started to put

them in order. It was a map. It clearly was from the way it was printed on yellow paper. Marcus stood

from dawn to dusk repairing the old map. Marcus took out the note his father left him and read it once

more time. "The creed had never rested to fight and to kill for what's right. When you're ready you

shall re-create the map and follow it." There was a dull old key taped to the note. Marcus figured it was

a key for some sort of box. Marcus stood there for another hour or so and finally finished it. He stood

proudly at his work and looked it over. It was his house leading to the southern woods. Deep in the

center was a giant X in red writing. Marcus had wrapped the taped up map into his jacket and got

prepared. Everytime he would sneak out Marcus used the same excuse."I'm going to hang out with

some friends ma!" but the truth was he had never had friends. Marcus was half black and the kids his

age were racist as fuck. He soon had everything he needed. The map, a knife (incase something

happened), a couple of he picked up from previous escapes for his flintlock, and a wrap of cloth. He put

the items into his sack and put it on. He climbed out the window and made his way to the roof. Marcus

jumped and leaped for hours until he finally got to the border of the southern woods. Marcus had tired

himself out after running nonstop for an hour. But his dedication drove him on further. He used the

trees as short cuts to get through faster and was soon in the heart of the forest. He had dug up where

the X was located and pulled out the box. He jammed the key into the slot and opened it. He took out a

strange hood with two blades that seemed to go on his wrists. There was also a couple of dart heads

tied to a rope and a couple of flintlock rounds. But on the very top was a mace with another note. "For

the next generation of assassins" the mace was shining in the dark sky and seemed to give him more

power beyond anything. Marcus put on the hood and the two blades. He tied the rope dart around his

waist and put the mace on a slot on the side of his hood. Marcus pulled the hood over and stared into

the sky, knowing that his father was watching him. But at that very moment a low growl formed in the

darkness. Marcus drew his mace and looked at the source of the sound, and ever so slowly a white wolf

came out of the darkness growling fiercely. He must have smelled Marcus's blood stained cloth as a

bandage and followed it to him. The wolf came closer and closer until it lunged at Marcus and tore into

his arm's flesh.


End file.
